Chapter Seventeen

VINCE REGRETTED THE way he’d brushed James aside but doubted James had taken it personally. He struck Vince as a man with particularly thick skin and unshakable faith in his own allure.

He would have liked nothing more than to take James to the Jack Thistle, get a bottle of whiskey, and figure out what to do about the Gunbrides. But he still couldn’t trust James. Not completely. Not yet. James’s ambition meant he’d always be working on some other angle. Always be looking for a way to win.

Despite his assurances to the council, Vince did not, in fact, have a plan. To avoid dwelling on it, he took an empty grain bag and shovel and walked to a quiet part of the beach. There he pushed the shovel into the dry sand, tipping it into the bag. When he’d filled it, he tied the bag closed and heaved it over his shoulder. People cleared a path for him as he lugged it the whole way through town, to the back of the Watch House.

By the time he arrived, he’d already worked up a sweat. He stripped his shirt off and hung it over the handles of the cart they’d taken from the Pennymen. The horse shuffled about, nervously, and he laid his hand on its chestnut muzzle to calm it down.

He took a length of thick rope and tied it to the bag. He threw the other end over a beam in the lean-to and heaved the bag of sand into position. He steadied himself and tapped the bag lightly with his fists, testing its worth. He closed his eyes for a moment, his body instinctively dropping into a fighting stance.

He raised his fists and thumped the bag. It swayed. He jabbed left, right, left again, each time falling short of where he expected to hit. He used to have a dependable, devastating left hook but now with his left eye ruined he missed the mark almost every time.

This sort of training was the next best thing to the cherry house when it came to clearing his mind. When he lost himself in his boxing, everything else drained away. Colours dimmed, the world pulled away from him, and the little voice in the back of his head detailing every mistake he’d ever made fell mercifully silent.

He walked around the little yard and shook his hands out before trying again. He lashed out, harder and harder each time. His punches landed wildly. He paused, adjusting his stance and began to hammer it again. The bag shook and shuddered under his onslaught. His muscles tightened, his hands throbbed but he jabbed and bashed with every ounce of fury within him. Sweat pooled at the small of his back and glossed his armpits. A light drizzle fell on him, cooling his bare, inked skin, and still he struck. He gritted his teeth and growled, the growl became a roar, his fists blurred where they pummelled, the beam above him creaked, the bag wobbled, the rope began to fray, he shouted and stopped suddenly, grabbing the bag close, halting its swing.

Sorcha held out a cup of water. “Thought you might be wanting something to drink.”

His breathing had become heavy, and he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Prefer an ale.”

“I can get some. I think Mr Norton has some hidden out in the sheds.”

Vince waved his hand and shook his head.

“Fine, never mind,” Sorcha said. “Your meeting with the Council went well, I take it?”

He grunted a response.

“The Council was never going to agree to let the Gunbrides take over the Reach,” Sorcha said. “Lambshead must have known as much.”

“Still insisted I ask.”

“Because it makes him look like he’s acting in good faith, I suppose. He can tell the people of the Reach he did all he could. He reached out to the Council, and it was the Council who rejected him, instead of the other way around.”

“Good way to keep the public support.”

“Exactly. Now that avenue is closed, they’re left with no choice but to be the brave protectors of Gull’s Reach.” She hopped up onto a barrel under the lean-to, keeping out of the rain. “So, let’s assume that was their plan all along. The next part is you.”

“Lambshead’s no fool. Knew I’d come after him.”

“He might have guessed in your new role, you’d have to try some diplomacy first.”

“Knew it wouldn’t work too.”

“Which makes it look like you’re not up to the task.”

Vince bristled at that. “Wants to discredit me. Make me look weak.”

“I’d say there’s more to it. I’d say he wants to keep you on a tight leash. To give you orders instead of taking them, for a change. How far is he willing to push it, do you think?”

Vince didn’t answer.

“How did it go with the Cream?”

Vince took his shirt and pulled it on over his head. “No fourth gang. Just Celeste, Littletar, and Lambshead working together behind the scenes. Shadow council, they called it.”

“Ah, right, I thought that might be the case.” Sorcha kicked lightly at the hanging bag of sand. “Most of the higher-ranking criminals are dead or in gaol. There isn’t anyone else it could have been, really.”

Vince shrugged and took a drink of water. He wiped his wet moustache on the back of his hand. “Shadow council want me to pass information to them about the Sentinels.”

“Spy on them?” Sorcha hissed in her conspiratorial voice.

“Said if I don’t they’ll…make me sorry. Told them no anyway.”

“What did they threaten you with, exactly?”

Vince considered making something up. “Said they’d take it out on the Watch. And our families.”

“A risky thing to do, no? Threatening you? What makes them think you won’t just snap their necks?”

Vince sighed and cracked a knuckle.

“Oh!” Sorcha eyes widened. “You won’t do it, will you? You won’t hurt them now.”

Vince frowned at her. “Has to be a better way. Has to be.”

“I reckon they’re testing you. They want information on the greencoats, so let’s suppose for a second you provide some. What happens then?”

“Gangs avoid the Sentinels. Avoid getting caught.”

Sorcha held her hands open. “Or they get lead into a trap.”

Vince considered it for a moment. “Too many of them. Watch couldn’t catch them all.”

“Not alone, no, but maybe with the help of the Sentinels?”

Vince balled his hands on his hips. “Not them.”

“Be reasonable, Commander. They’ve got the numbers; they’ve got the weapons; they’ve got the training; they’ve got—”

“James.”

Sorcha cocked her head to one side. “Who?”

“Captain Godgrave.”

“Oh, him. You don’t trust him?”

Vince kicked at a little stone on the ground. “Never trust the overtly ambitious. Usually just looking for the next back to stab.”

“I thought you were on good terms with him?”

“Doesn’t mean I trust him. Can’t be sure he won’t take the opportunity to sweep the Watch off the board. Let us take the first hits in battle. Nice, neat way to do away with us.”

“You have a very low opinion of the man. He seemed pleasant enough to me. Can’t you just talk to him, at least? You’re not running a criminal empire now, you know. You’re going to have to start trusting other people eventually. Besides me, I mean.”

Vince snorted and lightly thumped the bag one last time.

JAMES OPENED HIS leather satchel and carefully set into it the brass compass which had been a gift from his mother to celebrate his captaincy. Next came the last of his notebooks. He lifted one to thumb through it when there came a knocking on his cabin door. “Enter and be quick about it!”

Mr Hamlyn opened the door and nodded. Behind him, Vince removed his tricorne cap before ducking inside the cabin.

“Ah, Mr Knight, this is a pleasant surprise.” James waved Mr Hamlyn away.

Vince sat heavily in a chair, placing his cap on one knee.

“Yes, well, let’s not stand on ceremony,” James said. ”Do take a seat.”

With the flat of his mammoth palm, Vince smoothed down his scruffy, snowy white hair. Parted at one side in an unconvincing nod to convention, it made him look like a schoolboy trying to make himself presentable after running around with his chums all morning. “Hate being on boats,” he said. “Too damn small for me.”

“Ship, my good man. You are on a ship.”

Vince scanned round the room with his solitary eye. “Packing up?”

“I won’t be captain of the Lancelot for much longer, now the Sentinel building is ready. What can I do for you?”

Vince cleared his throat. “Have a proposition.”

“Now I really am all ears.” James’s eyebrows arched even higher and his grin grew wider by the second.

“Spoke to the gang leaders a few nights ago,” Vince said. “Asked me to spy on you for them.”

“The gall! The audacity!”

Vince toyed with the brim of his tricorne cap. “Thought we could concoct something between us.”

“I think I see what you mean. Lure them into a trap.”

“Need to make sure we get them all at once. Threats have been made. Not idle ones.”

“Of course, of course. I must say, this is quite a turnaround given our conversation this morning.”

“Spoke to someone about it. Suggested I be more…trusting.”

“I should thank them,” James said.

Vince fixed him with a steely glare. “Can’t let anyone know the Watch and Sentinels are working together. Rabbit’s orders. Trusting you with this, James,” he said. “Don’t let me down.”

Big, powerful Vince sitting there—his shoulders slumped, his voice gentler than ever, cap literally in hand—made him look so much softer than James had ever seen him. There was no angle Vince was working. It wasn’t a scheme or a ploy of any kind. Vince was simply and honestly asking for help.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” James said.